


All That's Left

by Lissadiane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Crazy Kate Argent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, It's lighter than it sounds, It's mostly Derek being bad at talking and Stiles trying to flirt with him anyway, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, POV Derek, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, fake boyfriends, past character death - talia, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissadiane/pseuds/Lissadiane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek hates people. He hates that they can’t just shut their damned mouths and listen to the music and then quietly depart the festival grounds and get drunk elsewhere. He hates when they block his way to the tour bus and pound on the windows, begging for a wave or a smile like they own part of him, just because they like his music. He hates when they touch him, like they think they get a pound of flesh with every download. They don’t – they get the song, and that should be enough for them.</p>
<p>In which Derek Hale is the drummer of a reasonably successful rock band who survives epically long summer festival tours by sticking to a routine and keeping to himself. Stiles, the charismatic lead singer of an up-and-coming dancecore pop punk band (whatever that means), is not meant to be part of that routine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That's Left

**Author's Note:**

> The warnings look scary on this one, but I figured over-warning was better than under-warning. The non-con/rape/abuse elements of this story generally relate to Derek's past with Kate, which is never graphically discussed, but does have effects on Derek, a decade later, leading to panic attacks and other PTSD effects. Kate also appears in this story, and is generally crazy, makes some threats, and tries to manipulate Derek with varying degrees of success. It isn't the main part of the story and it mostly happens in the past, ten years before.
> 
> Dedicated to Skoosiepants again! Because I basically wrote it for her, and because she kept me from making Stiles the lead singer of a glam rock band named Captivity, in which he dressed up like a sexy zoo animal and did cabaret. You're welcome.

The worst part of a show is when the music’s over and the screaming is all that’s left.

Derek hates people. He hates that they can’t just shut their damned mouths and listen to the music and then quietly depart the festival grounds and get drunk elsewhere. He hates when they block his way to the tour bus and pound on the windows, begging for a wave or a smile like they own part of him, just because they like his music. He hates when they touch him, like they think they get a pound of flesh with every download. They don’t – they get the song, and that should be enough for them.

Cora’s better at dealing with people, and Laura loves it. Derek would hang out backstage until all the people had been escorted off the grounds by security if he could help it, but Peter always says it’s ‘bad optics’.

Fuck optics. And fuck Peter. He’s their band manager, not their mother.

“Smile, baby brother,” Laura says now, slinging an arm around his shoulder and grinning her toothy grin at the fans screaming and reaching for them through the fence. Derek grits his teeth around a smile. It feels more like a grimace.

People are taking pictures on phones and the screaming intensifies. “Four autographs,” he says under his breath. “That’s the deal. Then I’m gone.”

“Just keep breathing,” she says, before kissing his cheek. “You’re fine.”

Sometimes Laura acts more like his mother than his big sister, but he supposes that comes with the territory. She’s the only one who knows how bad the panic attacks can get.

He signs one ticket stub, one album cover, one girl’s trembling hand, and another girl’s Converse. Then, with a wave and another fake smile, he jogs towards the buses.

The screams of the fans are muted here, and Derek finally relaxes, tossing his bag on his bunk and making his way to the back of the bus. He shakes the tension out of his shoulders before turning on the treadmill and starting up a brisk jog. He’s always jittery after a show, and if he times it right, he might get a full work out in before the bus starts moving, heading for their next location.  
*  
Life on the festival circuit is mind-numbingly boring most of the time, with the odd burst of frenetic energy that comes with being on stage. Having a routine is the best way to keep his sanity, Derek had long ago decided.

He’d spent his first few summer festival tours drinking himself into numbness, but that really didn’t work anymore. He hated feeling groggy, he hated waking up on strange buses with strange people’s naked bodies beside him, their lipstick on his body and their taste on his tongue. He’d outgrown it, he supposed.

It made sense; Pack Attack was pretty much a classic on these tours by now. Sometimes touring with the young, upcoming bands in their stupid vans made Derek feel like an old man instead of just 27. 

So while the other bands are sleeping off the night before, Derek starts each morning off with a brisk run around the festival grounds, followed by a quick shower. Then he brings coffee back to the bus for Laura and Cora, who are both probably still sleeping off whatever shenanigans they’d gotten into the night before. Then he drags them to craft services for breakfast, before checking in with Peter for that day’s schedule. With so many big names on tour, they’re alternating time slots. Then there is soundcheck and usually, if he’s lucky, a few spare hours in the afternoon, when the festival gates open and the opening acts start warming up the stage. He likes to sneak off the grounds and see the sights, if he can, pick up a few postcards to mail home to himself with a few notes on where he is and what he wants to remember about it. Then it’s dinner and back to the grounds in plenty of time to keep Peter from shitting himself with worry.

Then it’s the show. Derek loves the show. He loves his kit, he loves keeping the beat, he loves the slow, steady, measured pace of it. He loves being safe and pretty much concealed behind the drums. He loves looking out at Laura on lead guitar and on the mic, captivating the audience with her voice and her hips and the way she wraps herself around a good lyric. He likes looking out at Cora on bass, in her own little world and sometimes getting so caught up in her shit that she climbs up on speakers and jumps, or crowd surfs, or leaps onto his platform –

She only does that on nights when she’s particularly wrapped up in her own head and needs something dangerous to bring her back, because Derek never takes it well. She’ll grin her shit-eating grin at him and he’ll growl and she’ll back away laughing and he hates it, but he knows she only does it when she needs it, when she needs that connection.

Mostly he likes knowing that he is safe and his sisters are safe and they’re together on stage and no one can hurt them without going through security first.

And then he’s forced to sign an autograph or two before he can escape to the bus to work out and sleep and do it all over again in the morning.

It’s a good life. Except for the people.  
*  
In Seattle, things go a little sideways.

Their soundcheck has been wrapped up and he’s done his duty, signing a handful of autographs and even smiling for a few pictures for fans who’ve arrived early, but now he’s free. 

Derek’s mind is far from the festival grounds, far from the screaming fans. He’s walking back to his bus and trying to nail down a beat that’s been playing in the back of his mind of the past few days, and he’s barely watching where he’s going at all.

He automatically skirts around the person standing in the shadows beside his bus, though, because even when he’s distracted, Derek goes out of his way to avoid unwanted physical contact.

She reaches out and grabs his arm anyway.

“Whoa, there,” she says, and he goes still, sucking in a startled breath. She’s laughing – he recognizes the laugh, of course he does. He doesn’t have to look at her to know it’s Kate. “Where are you going in such a hurry?” she says, stepping out of the bus’s shadow and smiling flirtatiously up at him.

Derek jerks out of her grip and steps back carefully. It’s been – how many years has it been? He can’t remember because he’s spent all of those years trying to forget Kate ever existed at all. Nearly ten, he thinks. A decade. And she’s still beautiful.

“Get out of my way,” he says, low and careful. She’s blocking the bus door, standing between him and safety, and his lungs are already tightening up.

“What, no hello?” she says, stepping close again. He doesn’t back up, but he wants to. He wants to run. “And here I thought you missed me.”

Her hand is on his chest, and he can feel it burning straight through his t-shirt and he can’t breathe. Instead of running, he shoves her hand off him roughly and says, “What are you doing here?”

She grins up at him. “You don’t know? I’m joining the tour.”

He snorts. “We’ve got enough groupies,” he says. “And Peter would never let you on this tour.”

“Peter doesn’t have much of a choice.” She’s pouting now, but it’s still playful, and he can still see straight through it. When he was 17, he’d fallen for all of it. Her smiles, her laughs, her carefully worded complements, her touch. He’d thought she was an angel. “I’m here as a guest.” She smirks. “When my baby niece asked me to come out on tour with her, how could I say no? Especially when I found out she’d be touring with you. I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

“You can’t,” he says, but the anxiety is threatening again, and he clenches his hands into fists to hide their shaking. 

“Fine,” Kate says, and she’s stepping closer again, so she’s pressed against his chest, her hand sliding up to his cheek. “We don’t have to talk, if you don’t want. That’s not what you’re best at anyway.”

Her mouth is on the side of his neck and she’s biting him and Derek goes cold all over and then he snaps, shoving her away.

“Go wherever you want,” he growls. “But stay away from me.”

He walks away and he can hear her laughing behind him but he doesn’t care. He needs to get out of here.  
*  
The boy working the security gate barely looks legal. He’s pale and skinny, with stupid hair, and he’s wearing old jeans and a hoodie with the hood pulled up. Hardly professional. He’s slumped against the outside of the guard shack, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, and Derek looks around for someone – anyone else – who can help him.

The kid is the only one in sight.

“I need a car,” he says, and the boy rolls his eyes, not even looking up from his shoes. He’s chewing his bottom lip and when he stops, Derek can see the marks his teeth leave behind.

“Well,” the kid drawls. “You’re going to have to—” and then he finally drags his eyes up and looks scornfully at Derek. He blinks twice, skimming his eyes quickly from Derek’s face to his feet and back again. “Oh.”

Derek hasn’t got time for this bullshit. “A car,” he snaps. He needs to get away from here, as far from here as he can. He glances over his shoulder, hesitating. Boyd’s nowhere in sight and Derek knows he’s probably with Laura and Cora, who generally pop in at the merch tent as the grounds start filling up, meeting fans. But he also knows that Boyd will freak the fuck out if Derek goes off on his own without security. “And… a driver,” he adds abruptly. He tries not to stress his security team out as best he can these days. “Can you drive me?”

The boy grins slowly, cheeks flushing. “Oh, sure,” he says, and he bounces on his toes. “Absolutely. Anywhere you want to go.”

A car pulls up and the driver – another security guy, from the look of him – gets out and tosses the keys to the kid. “Here you go,” he says. “You good to head out on your own?”

“Oh, absolutely,” the kid says smoothly. “I’m going with him.” He jerks his head at Derek and the security guy nods.

“But we’ll only be an hour or two,” the kid adds, glancing sideways at Derek. “Right?”

“Sure. Yes.”

“Sweet.” The boy opens the passenger door for Derek with a flourish and waits politely for him to climb in, which is better service than he usually gets from gate security, but Derek doesn’t care. He just needs to get out of here.

“So,” the boy says. “Where to?”

“Just drive,” Derek snaps. Belatedly, he adds, “Please.” He puts his sunglasses on and ignores the boy’s eye roll as he drives out of the parking lot. The farther they get from the festival grounds and from Kate, the more he gradually relaxes, the more his lungs loosen up, the better he breathes.

He sends a text to Laura’s phone. Gone. Back soon. Still fine.

And then he closes his eyes and breathes.  
*  
He doesn’t open his eyes until the car stops, and when he does, he stares. “Where are we?”

“The coast?” his driver says with a shrug. “I thought maybe it would help.”

“With what?” Derek climbs out of the car reluctantly.

“Your breathing?” The driver follows him out into the brisk seaside air. “I don’t know. It helps with mine.”

Derek scoffs, because this kid clearly has no idea what he’s talking about, but the endless ocean in front of him, the chilly breeze, the empty sky – it is helping.

He shoves his sunglasses up on top of his head and steps from the parking lot into the rocky beach. “Thanks,” he says quietly, a while later, when his throat isn’t tight anymore.

His driver shrugs again but he’s smiling, ducking his head. “No problem,” he says. “You can give me an autograph to pay me back, though, if you want.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, distracted by the seagulls wheeling through the sky. “Sure.”

“Sweet,” the kid says quietly, and it’s the last time he speaks for a long while, wandering down the beach with Derek but giving him space, and Derek appreciates it more than he can say.

*  
His lips taste like salt and his hair is sticky with it when he gets back in the car, but Derek’s skin feels tighter, like he’s holding together better than he was.

The driver is still being obligingly quiet, but he takes them through a drive thru for burgers and curly fries on the way back to the grounds, which Derek also appreciates.

“Where do you want it?” Derek asks when they park, and for a long moment, the kid stares at him with wide brown eyes and a flush slowly growing in his cheeks.

“Uh, what?”

“The autograph?”

The boy blinks and laughs and says, “Wow, yeah, the autograph, I almost forgot.” Then he pulls a Sharpie out of his back pocket and hands it over. “I want it here,” he says, an impish light in his eyes as he tugs his hoodie and t-shirt aside, baring his collarbone. He traces the spot where he wants Derek’s name with his finger.

Derek lifts an eyebrow skeptically, but who is he to judge. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“Stiles,” says the boy with a crooked smirk. “But just write your name, that’ll be cool.”

Derek does, right across his collarbone. It smudges a little, so he leans forward and blows on it, and Stiles shivers and laughs, pulling away.

“Thanks,” he says to Derek with a shy smile. “Really.”

Derek shrugs. He’s climbing out of the car and he can see Cora already jogging towards him, scowling. “No problem,” he says, distracted. “Thanks.”

And then Cora is yanking him by the arm back towards their bus for an ‘emergency band meeting,’ which means they know Kate is here, and Derek just rolls his eyes and goes along with it and forgets all about the kid working security behind him.  
*  
Derek has been on this festival circuit for two weeks now, and he has a routine, and watching the other bands is not part of that routine. Unfortunately, with Kate lurking around, his band has voted that he can’t be left on his own, and that means adjusting his routine to his sisters’.

And apparently Cora is a huge fan of – Derek doesn’t even know what this mess of a band is called. But Cora had promised they were dancecore pop with a punk edge and Derek doesn’t know what that means but he isn’t seeing the punk edge anywhere.

In fact, he’s barely paying attention. They’re decent enough, he supposes, but the drummer tends to rush the beat sometimes, the music isn’t guitar-driven enough – sometimes the lead singer even hops on a keyboard, and keyboards have no place in real music. But the lyrics are decent and the lead singer’s voice manages to layer all sorts of meaning into each word and the crowd certainly seems to appreciate the way he can’t seem to keep still. They scream when he wraps his hands around the microphone and sings right into it, they scream when he uses ridiculous dance moves to work his way across the stage to hang off his guitar player, or his bass player. They scream when he hops up to sing to the drummer – but that’s probably because his ass looks amazing in his tight jeans – which of course isn’t what Derek is paying attention to.

He’s very involved in a game of Candy Crush on his phone, actually. He’s been stuck on the same level for nearly a year now. It takes all his concentration. Obviously.

And then one song ends and before the next can begin, the guitar player says coyly into the microphone, “Hey. Why don’t you show them what you got today,” he says.

Derek looks up just as the lead singer – both hands wrapped around the microphone again and legs spread a bit like he’s forcing himself to be still and the mic stand is all that’s keeping him there – glances at the guitarist, surprised.

“Oh!” he says, after a beat, and then he’s beaming at the audience, who screams. Camera phones flash and suddenly the super confident, quirky lead singer is just a shy, sweaty guy who may or may not be wearing glitter on his cheeks. “Check this out.” He tugs his shirt aside, showing off one shoulder, and his collarbone, and – Oh.

Derek blinks.

Stiles brushes the autograph with his fingertips at the base of his neck with a lopsided grin. “Met Derek Hale today.”

The screaming is deafening. The camera phones are blinding.

“Huh,” Cora says, eyeing him.

Huh, Derek thinks, staring.

Stiles looks much different when he’s captivating an audience than he did slumped and grumpy against a guard shack this afternoon.  
*  
Derek is still standing there when Stiles’ set ends, though he probably could have escaped by now. Cora’s gone and Boyd’s in her place, and Derek isn’t sure why he’s still there.

But Stiles is laughing as he comes off stage and the guitar player – Scott – is shoving him and laughing too, and Stiles smacks right into Derek without even seeing him and Derek --- Derek doesn’t growl and push him away. Huh.

“Oh!” Stiles says, stumbling back and blinking at Derek. “Oh, hey! You’ve never – you watched the show? Dude, you’ve never watched my show!”

“He would know,” Scott adds, smirking. Stiles punches him in the shoulder.

“Uh, I was playing Candy Crush,” Derek lies, waving his phone as proof.

Stiles shoulders sink a little. “Oh,” he says. “Right.”

“And… You have a band. That’s a thing.” Wow. Derek huffs, frustrated at his own inability to speak like an adult. “I mean, I didn’t know?”

Stiles shrugs, biting his lip again. “I figured,” he said after a moment, smiling a small, shy smile. “But it’s all good.”

“I’ve got a band,” Derek says abruptly. And then he closes his eyes and prays for deliverance because seriously. He’s a disaster.

“Yeah, you do,” Stiles says, and amusement threads itself through his voice, but at least he’s not laughing at Derek to his face.

“Stiles has every Pack Attack album you guys’ve ever released,” Scott says helpfully, bouncing on his toes. “Halftime Moon is the first song he ever learned on guitar, back in Grade 7, when he started a Pack Attack cover band, and –”

“Scott,” Stiles hisses, and Scott snaps his mouth shut with an audible click and a huge grin. Stiles glares at him.

“Oh,” Derek says, a little disappointed, and he’s not sure why. “Right.” 

“Nearly time to get changed for your set,” Boyd says suddenly, a reassuring presence at Derek’s back.

He nods quickly. “Yes. Right. Okay,” he says, and he’s dying here. It shouldn’t even matter that Stiles looks so fucking attractive with his stupid sweaty hair and the glitter smudged on his stupid face. Because Stiles is just a kid – and a huge fan, apparently, which meant so off limits, even if he was legal, which he probably isn’t, and it’s probably for the best that Derek is too fucking awkward to string a proper sentence together.

He pauses. Stiles looks at him, expectant, but Derek doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.

So he nods once, abruptly, and turns and walks away. And he curses himself every step of the way.

Boyd claps a commiserating hand on his shoulder but doesn’t comment, and Derek is grateful.  
*  
Stiles watches Derek’s set from side stage and Derek misses a few beats because of it.

Laura casts him worried looks, thinking it’s Kate that has him off his game, and Derek wishes it was that simple, but it’s not. 

Derek tries not to think about it. But he does glance over once, near the end of their set, when Laura’s babbling on about their next song to fill the time while a roadie quickly replaces a string she broke in the last song. Derek takes a long drink of water and glances over, super casually. Stiles catches him looking, and he looks so different now, cozy in the hoodie from earlier. He flashes half a smile and waves a little and Derek misses his cue to start the next song.

It’s all very embarrassing.

When they’re done, he tosses his drumsticks and ducks off the opposite end of the stage. He skips the autographs, even if it means a lecture from Peter in the morning, and hurries to his bus. He’s alone, which Laura expressly forbid, but he doesn’t run into Kate or anyone at all, and Derek is grateful.

He turns his music up loud and runs on the treadmill until his legs nearly give out.

And when he’s done, Cora’s waiting patiently in the doorway.

“Afterparty,” she says brightly.

“No.”

“Laura’s off with Peter and I want to go.” She pouts. “And you know I’m not supposed to go anywhere alone, not with Kate around.”

He feels a flash of desperation and struggles not to show it. “We can stay here,” he says. “We’ll watch a movie.”

“We did that last night. And the night before. We’re not leaving the grounds until early morning this time, we can go to the afterparty and still make bus call. C’mon.”

He’s a sucker for his sisters. Derek closes his eyes. “Can we be back by 11?” he asks.

Cora yelps with excitement and disappears to get changed, so he takes that for agreement.  
*  
It’s a hot night, so the afterparty is a mess before they even get there. There’s a clear patch of parking lot, buses and vans parked all around it, and someone has pulled a bunch of garbage cans into the open area and lit fires inside of them. There are kiddie pools filled with ice and beer, but the ice is already a melted mess, and water fights keep erupting as drunk people shove each other into the water. Some people have broken out water guns, and if any of them come near him, he has no problem shoving the guns up their asses.

Luckily, most people take one look at his scowl and keep away from him.

So Derek finds a bus to lean against, close enough to keep an eye on Cora and far enough from the crowd that he doesn’t feel trapped. He crosses his arms against his chest and starts a mental countdown. Two more hours and they can leave.

Time moves very slowly.

And then it hiccups a little bit and starts speeding up again, because he isn’t standing alone anymore.

Stiles is mimicking his stance, shoulder touching Derek’s. “Come here often?” he says.

Derek is hot and cold all over. He scowls, because it’s better than running. “You’re not cute,” he says.

Stiles laughs. “Dude, you’re the only one who thinks that.”

Derek doesn’t reply, and there is a brief silence, but it doesn’t seem awkward. He watches Cora, who’s chatting up a pretty girl across one of the garbage can bonfires, and then Stiles says, “You know, I thought this rockstar thing would be more glamorous.”

“What were you expecting?” Derek asks dryly.

“More hookers,” Stiles says. “And limos. And, you know. Drugs.”

Derek finally looks at him. Stiles is holding a beer, but he doesn’t seem in any hurry to drink it. “You’re not legal to drink,” he says. “Maybe leave the hookers and blow to the adults.”

Stiles blinks at him, slow and lazy. “Okay,” he says, cocking his head. “How old do you think I am?”

Derek isn’t playing this game. “Not old enough,” he says, pushing away from the bus.

Before he can make his dramatic exit – fully planning to grab Cora on the way and drag her back to the bus, fuck the afterparty – Stiles grabs his wrist. “Twenty-two,” he says quickly. “Years old, I mean. So.” Stiles swallows and shrugs, fake casual. “Totally legal.”

Derek slumps back against the bus. “Oh,” he says.

“But not really into hookers and blow,” Stiles adds.

Derek flounders for a second, and then he says, uncertainly, “Maybe a little cute.”

Stiles beams like Derek has given him the best compliment he’s ever received, and salutes him with his beer can. “Yeah?” he asks, coy. “I think you’re fucking adorable.”

Derek’s face is burning, but he rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he mumbles, because Stiles is laughing at him, and Derek is an idiot. “I need to go.”

“No, hey, wait!” Stiles calls, but he’s still laughing, so Derek shakes him off and threads his way through the crowd to get Cora. Stiles doesn’t follow.

And Derek doesn’t care.  
*  
“I’m not going,” Cora hisses. Her arms are crossed at her chest and she’s got that stubborn look that Derek knows. He’s not going to win this one. He glances around quickly but no one’s really paying them any attention. 

“You can’t actually be having fun here,” he snaps.

She raises an eyebrow and glances pointedly at the girl she was chatting up. “Actually, I am. You can go, though. Send Boyd. I’ll be fine.”

Derek growls but she just rolls her eyes and turns back to Lydia, so he storms away from the garbage fires and pools and calls Boyd.

“Cora’s at the afterparty,” he says tersely. “Are you busy?”

“No,” Boyd says carefully. “You okay?”

“Fine. I just need… out.” He huffs a little, frustrated with himself and how careful people tend to be around him. “Unless you’re busy. I can stay.”

“Nah, Erika and I were about to head over anyway,” Boyd says easily, because he’s technically off duty now. Derek shouldn’t need a babysitter this late.

“Thank you,” he says, and Boyd promises to be there in a few minutes and hangs up.

Derek paces a little, trying to work out the nerves pooling in his muscles, and when he finally sees Boyd wave from across the crowd, he breathes out, relieved, and ducks between two buses to make his way back to his own.

Kate corners him as he’s skirting around the backstage area, where roadies are busy packing up equipment.

“Derek,” she says, falling into step beside him. She sounds pleased to see him. He walks faster and ignores her. “You always were in a hurry,” she says, laughing.

Derek just picks up speed. She manages to slip her arm between his, however, and he can’t seem to manage to shake her off, and that’s the most ridiculous thing. Derek’s 27 years old. He’s stronger than he’s ever been. He’s not afraid of Kate. But somehow all he needs to do is hear her voice and he freezes up like the scared 17 year old boy he used to be.

And he’s had enough. He spins on her suddenly, furious, and snaps, “Don’t touch me. Don’t speak to me. I don’t want to see you. Get it through your head.”

She smiles prettily at him. “I just don’t think you mean it,” she says. “Do you, Derek?”  
And she fucking touches him again, a hand on his hip, and she’s slipping closer, and Derek freezes, because she’s too close and no one gets to be that close to him.

His muscles lock up and he can’t breathe suddenly. She’s got him pinned against the side of the bus and he’s 17 again and he’s frozen and she’s touching him and he’s trying to fumble his way through all the broken sentence fragments in his mind and on his tongue to tell her to stop, but Derek’s never been very good with words.

His tongue is tied in knots and she takes his panicky silence as consent because Kate’s always taken just what she wants and Derek’s never managed to figure out how to tell her no when her hands are on him.

“Hey, there you are, I was just – oh, wow.”

Stiles stumbles into the glow of a nearby streetlamp and freezes, eyes going wide as he stares. Kate looks over her shoulder at him and laughs.

“Friend of yours?” she says, and Derek is shaking, he’s shutting down, but he manages to shake his head, just a little, because he barely knows Stiles at all, except that Stiles is quiet when Derek needs quiet, and loud when he needs to be shaken out of his own thoughts. 

And when Stiles touches him, Derek doesn’t shy away.

“He’s cute,” Kate says, and Stiles wrinkles his nose distastefully.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m going to go,” he says, stepping back.

Derek panics. “Stiles,” he says, and his voice is strangled and he sounds broken and Derek hates it. He clears his throat and closes his eyes and gathers up all the words he’s got and says, “Wait.”

It’s not going to be enough but he doesn’t know how to beg for help. Derek doesn’t know how to ask someone to save him. He fucking hates that he can’t seem to stop his body from shaking long enough to save himself.

But Stiles hesitates, taking in the way Derek is pressed up against the bus and the way he’s trembling. Who knows what the fuck else he sees. Derek doesn’t want to know. He’s embarrassed enough as it is.

“Okay,” Stiles says again, but he’s frowning this time, just a little. “I was gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie.”

“Yes,” Derek says quickly. And then Stiles is shoving his way between Derek and Kate, using his elbows and shoulders to peel her off Derek, and Kate goes, laughing.

“Don’t let me get in the way,” she says. “We can hook up later.”

Derek doesn’t care, though. He can breathe again and he’s going to puke and it’s all stupidly embarrassing. But Stiles takes one of his shaky hands between both of his and says quietly, “Okay, big guy. Your bus or my van?” He’s tugging him away from Kate, and Derek is grateful. He’s so busy finding his equilibrium again that he can’t even remember where they are, let alone where they’re going.

“Mine,” he says.

Stiles knows right where it is and leads him there without another word. Derek lets them inside and then leaves Stiles standing awkwardly in the hall, because he’s got about three seconds to make it to the bathroom before he pukes all over the floor.

When he comes out, Stiles quietly hands him a bottle of water. “I’ll send your sister,” he says, and Derek just watches him go, startled, for a moment.

“I thought –” he says, and Stiles hesitates. “We were watching a movie.”

Stiles looks at him in silence for a moment, tipping his head as he studies Derek, and then he says, “Okay. Yeah. Lead the way.”

And Derek has never been so grateful for anybody’s company before.

*  
Derek microwaves a bag of popcorn for Stiles while Stiles sorts through his movie collection. They end up watching Zombieland, which Derek has seen about a million times, but he doesn’t care. He sits really still, as far from Stiles on the small, shitty sofa as he can get, staring at the tiny bus TV. 

He stopped shaking just before the popcorn finished popping, and that’s a relief, but now that the nausea is settling down and the panic has receded, he’s got a thousand other concerns, namely the fact that he didn’t let Stiles gracefully withdraw when he tried to, and now Stiles is still there. His cheeks are bulging with popcorn and he’s chewing loudly, totally engrossed in the movie, and that’s better than staring at Derek or laughing. But he’s there and that’s the problem.

Derek doesn’t know how to politely say, “Hey, sorry about that, I’m all good now. Get out.”

He thinks maybe there isn’t a polite way to say that.

So he’s stuck, holding very still, staring unseeing at the movie, and chasing panicky thoughts around in his own mind. 

“So,” Stiles says suddenly, and Derek jumps.

“What,” he snaps. He turns to look and Stiles is staring, cheeks puffed up with all the popcorn he’s got in his mouth, eyes wide. 

“Just wondering if maybe you had something to drink?”

Derek blinks and scowls, looking away. “Yeah,” he says. “Orange soda or root beer.”

Stiles laughs a little bit Derek doesn’t bother asking what’s funny. If Stiles wants a beer, he’s not going to get one here. “Orange is good,” he says. “Orange is awesome. Thanks.”

Derek tosses it to him and then hovers in the doorway. The movie isn’t quite over but Derek is feeling claustrophobic. He can’t imagine sitting back down. He needs to run or do some push ups or chin ups or sleep.

Stiles just watches him, like Derek is a science experiment. It’s making Derek feel even more trapped, and he’s about to snap when Stiles says abruptly, “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“This is talking about it,” Derek mumbles, pacing the room a little.

“I mean, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know her, you know. Kate. I know what she’s like. Scott’s been dating her niece for years. Kate’s always a little too touchy with Allison’s friends.”

“She didn’t know you,” Derek says. His words sound clipped and short. “When she saw you.”

He shrugs. “Haven’t seen her in a few years. I grew my hair out. I’m also really good at being invisible when I want to be. Plus, Isaac and I always find something better to do when Allison warns us her aunt is going to be around. Isaac’s more afraid of her than you are.”

“I’m not afraid,” Derek snaps, and it’s true. It’s sort of true. He tries not to be. But it’s hard to remember, when she’s standing right there, easily tearing through all his carefully constructed confidence.

“Whoa, no, of course not,” Stiles says, and he sounds sincere, so Derek doesn’t snap at him again. He sits down on the sofa, rubbing at his eyes. 

“You said we didn’t have to talk about it,” Derek says desperately.

“We don’t.” Derek can still feel Stiles staring at him. “It’s just, I’m having trouble figuring out what you want from me. You don’t seem to want to talk, which is fine. But you also don’t seem to want me here. Except I’ve tried to leave twice, and you ask me to stay.”

Closing his eyes, Derek breathes for a second and then says, “Yeah. Sorry. I’m bad with… people. And words. And.” He waves a hand to encompass everything else he’s bad with. Pretty much just everything else, in general. “I don’t know what I want from you. I just… don’t mind, when I’m with you. You’re quiet when I need quiet but loud when I’ve had too much quiet. You know?” He glances at Stiles but Stiles doesn’t look like he knows. Derek closes his eyes again, frustrated. “I just – I don’t deal well, with people.”

“Like Kate,” Stiles says.

“Like anyone.”

Stiles slides closer to him. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I think get it. I totally know what you want from me.”

Derek’s relief is instantaneous. Somehow, Stiles has pieced it together, knows exactly what Derek meant – that being with Stiles is the only time Derek doesn’t feel like he’s letting someone down. That he liked Stiles face and his voice and his song lyrics and the words that seemed to spill so effortlessly from his tongue. That Derek was growing more and more infatuated with Stiles’ pretty eyes and the angles of his shoulders and he totally, completely wanted to write a song about Stiles’ stupid mouth. And then make out. Or cuddle. Derek could do cuddling.

“You want me to pretend to be your fake boyfriend,” Stiles says.

And Derek stares.

“No, listen. It’s brilliant,” Stiles says brightly. “We pretend we’re together, we hold hands, we sit together, we’re seen around the grounds together – I mean, dude, you autographed my collarbone. The internet already thinks we’re dating.”

“What exactly will that accomplish-- The internet what?”

Stiles is grinning, waving his phone. “Thinks we’re dating. It’s hilarious. And if Kate thinks you’re dating me, it won’t be weird that I’m around you all the time, so she won’t think you’re afraid of her, but she also won’t be able to get too near you or I’d stab her with a spoon, and no one would think that was weird. I’d make an awesome fake boyfriend. See? Win-win.”

Derek doesn’t see. But Stiles is excited and enthusiastic and Derek is fucking charmed and he somehow agrees to it. 

Stiles leaves twenty minutes later, because it’s his turn to drive the van and bus call is in two minutes, he’s practically bouncing on his toes.

But he still pauses in the doorway of the bus and turns back to Derek, who’s watching him, bemused. Stiles wraps a hand around his wrist and he’s serious suddenly, and solemn.

“Derek,” he says quietly. “If you ever do want to talk about it, though, I’m even better at listening than I am at being a fake boyfriend.”

And then he’s gone and Derek’s still a little confused. Because one thing he’s sure of is that he never wanted Stiles to be his fake anything, let alone boyfriend.  
*  
Derek Googles it.

He doesn’t want to, of course, but it’s all in the interest of research, for this whole fake boyfriend thing. So he types in ‘Derek Hale + Stiles Stilinski’ and he gets pages of hits, most of them with shaky video feed of Stiles shyly showing off his autograph, but there are also many posts, likes, Tweets and reblogs of a foggy, grainy picture of Derek standing alone on a beach. He manages to track that photo down to Stiles’ Instagram.

His first reaction – anger – fades away once he realizes that he can’t actually kill his new fake boyfriend, and then he studies the photo and decides he actually kind of likes it. It’s quiet, and he looks settled in his skin the way he rarely feels, and the photo was taken far enough away that it doesn’t seem like such a violation of his privacy.

And then he sees that Cora liked it and he does growl, snapping his laptop shut. His cheeks are burning and he buries himself under blankets in his bunk to ignore it.  
*  
They stop for gas around ten the next morning, and Derek uses their ten minute break to go for a quick jog down a gravel road leading away from the interstate. When he gets back, he’s barely winded and then he sees Stiles and the rest of his band standing outside of the Pack Attack bus, and he can’t breathe at all.

“Crap,” he mumbles. He’s going to hide, but then Laura comes out of the gas station and sees him and waves with both arms, obnoxiously.

“Derek!” she calls. “Look who we ran into!”

Stiles hops up and down and waves just as enthusiastically and Derek’s face is burning and this is the worst.

He waves half-heartedly and Stiles takes it as an invitation, running to meet him.

“Hey,” he says, grinning, and Derek manages half a smile back. “So, we aren’t stalking you, I swear. But we needed gas and saw your bus here and my driving shift is ending anyway and I thought, you know, if you didn’t mind, maybe I could ride with you guys. You know. As your—” he makes air quotes “—‘boyfriend.’ Unless you think it’s the worst idea ever, of course, then forget it, but –”

“Yes.”

Stiles’ face lights up. “Yeah?”

“If you want.”

“I do!”

Stiles looks like shit. He’s got shadows under his bloodshot eyes and his hair’s a mess and he looks like he can use a nap more than anything, but Derek doesn’t mind. He’s sure Cora and Laura won’t mind either, and they’ve got lots of room on the bus anyway.

“Derek says I can ride with them,” Stiles says to his bandmates, nodding seriously. “Because we’re dating.”

“What,” Laura says.

Cora is staring. Stiles’ bandmates are high fiving him. Derek just stares, horrified, because watching Stiles be an idiot is easier than meeting Laura’s eyes.

Stiles follows Derek onto the bus and, ten minutes later, when he starts slumping over in the middle of a family game of Spoons, Derek rolls his eyes and shoves the kid into his bunk with a blanket.

Then he does a punishing round of push ups and chin ups because his sisters wouldn’t dare interrupt his workout, despite the fact that they’ve been waiting to get Derek alone and interrogate him ever since Stiles had decided to announce that they were dating.

When a picture of Stiles curled up in Derek’s bunk drooling into his pillow appears on Cora’s Instagram that afternoon, Derek just saves it to his own computer, in a secret, hidden folder usually only reserved for porn, and never mentions it.

He also carefully doesn’t read any of the hundreds upon hundreds of comments.  
*  
Laura waits until Derek is sitting alone on the sofa to ambush him.

“What’s going on, baby brother?” she asks, and Derek really doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t really know what to say about it.

“Watching The Walking Dead,” he says, because he is, and because sometimes he can stall Laura by playing dumb.

She’s unwilling to play along. “Since when are you dating the lead singer of Bonesies?”

“Bonesies?” he echoes. “Seriously?”

She throws up her hands. “You don’t even know his band name?” she cries. “How can you possibly be--”

“Derek?”

Stiles is standing in the doorway, and holy shit. He’s a mussed, sleepy mess, with lines from Derek’s pillow marking one cheek, his hair mashed on that side and standing up on the other. His eyes are barely open and he’s rubbing at them sleepily, and the shorts he’d fallen asleep in were slipping down on one side, so one of his hip bones was visible. Apparently he’d taken his shirt off sometime since Derek had shoved him in his bunk.

Abruptly aware that he’s staring – because Jesus Christ, he wants to drag Stiles back to his bunk and crawl in with him so he can watch him wake up, because it’s fucking adorable – Derek jerks his gaze away and rubs at the back of his neck. He’s blushing. Laura’s staring, speculative. Derek’s such an idiot.

“Yeah?” he asks. His voice is rough and he clears his throat.

“I need a drink.” Stiles pouts a little. Derek wants to die and cuddle the shit out of him.

“’Kay,” he says instead, getting up, gratefully abandoning his sister, and leading the way to the little kitchen. “Orange or root beer?”

“Root beer,” Stiles says, already sounding disgusted. He collapses at the little table and Derek pops the can open for him and slides onto the other side of the bench. Stiles wiggles until he’s pressed to Derek’s side, slurping at the can and leaning against him, like he’s just too tired to stay sitting upright.

“Why’d you name your band Bonesies?” Derek asks, softly because Stiles has abandoned his soda can and seems to be falling asleep on Derek’s shoulder.

He snickers sleepily. “’Cos Scott looks like one of those creepy dancing skeleton when he dances,” he said.

Derek smiles a little and Stiles nuzzles closer. For a moment, Derek doesn’t know what to do, but then he remembers that it’s okay – Stiles is only his pretend boyfriend. Derek is allowed to play along.

So he slips his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and Stiles makes a sleepy, pleased noise and is sleeping again seconds later.

Derek’s arm falls asleep soon after, but he doesn’t move.  
*  
Stiles and Scott have pulled bikes out of the back of their van somehow and they’re now racing each other around the parking lot, shouting progressively creative insults at each other. Soundcheck is over, most bands are already settling in for the afternoon party, and Derek is leaning a hip against Stiles’s shitty van and watching him like he’s already infatuated.

But it’s okay; he’s just playing a part. He’s not sure what that part is supposed to accomplish, but he’s committed to it.

Laura is with him, has been tailing him like a curious puppy, but he’s managed to dodge all her attempts to find out what’s going on. She’s going for the silent judgement approach now.

Derek leans more heavily against the van and crosses his arms over his chest. Stiles calls Scott a dick monkey. Laura breaks her code of silence and says, “You don’t date, Derek.”

It’s true. He doesn’t. But Derek isn’t completely socially inept. He gets along just fine when he wants to. It’s just that these days, he doesn’t want to. He’s had his fair share of hook ups on the road, and at home. He’s had a few no-strings-attached friends-with-benefits sort of situations, and those tend to work out for the best, until they start getting attached. And then he breaks it off as gently as he can and moves on. He knows if he wants, he can go out and probably find a willing partner, and not just because his band is reasonably well known. He knows what he looks like, and hookups are generally willing to overlook any defects in his personality, or how shitty he is with words.

But Derek hasn’t actually been interested in dating in a long, long time. Nearly a decade, actually. Since Kate. Since his parents. Since everything had gone to hell.

Some people weren’t meant for loving, committed relationships, and Derek had long ago accepted that he’s one of those people. And he’s fine with it.

He never gets attached and he likes it that way. It’s safer.

Stiles’ head is thrown back as he laughs, pulling into the lead, and he’s not even watching where he’s going. He’s going to slam into the side of a bus and kill himself. He’s not even wearing a helmet.

He brakes last minute, tires skidding, and he gracelessly manages to avoid a fall, arms pinwheeling as he comes to a stop.

Derek’s heart didn’t skip a frightened beat, not even a little.

“Don’t get too attached,” he snaps at Laura. “It’s not real.” And he walks away before she could interrogate him about why, exactly, he was indulging Stiles in a fake relationship.

He goes back to his bus. He’s twenty minutes late for his afternoon workout, and messing up his routine is making Derek’s skin itch.  
*  
Derek doesn’t mind interviews. He’s pretty much the boring member of Pack Attack, so he’s rarely singled out. Laura loves the centre of attention and doesn’t mind monopolizing it for him, and Cora can get pretty protective, shutting down any inappropriate questions about things Derek doesn’t want to talk about.

So generally he can get through them with as few words as possible and everybody wins.

It’s early morning and they’re crammed into the studio at a local radio station. Derek doesn’t even have a mic. He’s sitting in the back, working out a new beat for a song he and Laura have been working on and staring out the window. He’s barely listening.

And then he hears his name and blinks at the radio DJ. “—So did you know before, Derek?”

Derek blinks. He has to lean over Laura’s shoulder to get close enough to the mic to answer. “Did I know what?” he asks. Laura rolls her eyes.

“Did you know that Stiles has publically confirmed that he wrote the Bonesies number one hit ‘Indifferent Indifference’ after meeting you at a Pack Attack meet and greet event when he was 16?”

“No? Should I have?”

The DJ laughs. “Have you even heard the song?”

Derek doesn’t know where this is going. “No,” he says.

“So is it safe to say you’re not a fan of Bonesies, even though you’re dating the lead singer?”

Derek panics. He’s clearly missed something – like the part of the interview where they explain just how the fuck they know about that, and now he’s made an idiot of himself and what if Stiles hears this? What if anybody hears this? The Bonesies fans will hate him. Stiles will hate him.

“That’s just a rumour,” Laura says smoothly, squeezing his knee.

The DJ raises his eyebrows. “According to Stiles’ Instagram, it’s more than a rumor,” he says. “Unless he wasn’t being truthful?”

Derek closes his eyes. “It’s true,” he says, quiet. He needs to get a fucking Instagram account, apparently. “I guess.”

It’s awkward. Everything is awkward. The DJ looks awkward, but amused. Cora looks mad, but like she doesn’t know where to direct her anger. Laura just keeps squeezing his knee, and the DJ wraps things up with a bit of friendly banter with her about what fans can expect at the show. Then they’re free to go and Derek is the first one out of the studio, down the stairs, and out into the parking lot. He’s gasping in fresh air, and of course some fans have gathered, screaming for him on the other side of the fence. 

Derek signs every autograph, because anything was better than being alone with his thoughts and his humiliation.  
*  
Derek listens to the song. It’s a poppy punk anthem about meeting your soulmate only to realize they’re kind of a dick.

He slams his laptop shut and groans, hiding his face in his pillow for a moment before regrouping, opening the laptop, and googling ‘indifferent indifference’ ‘Stiles’ and ‘Derek Hale’.

He finds the video clip halfway down the list of hits. Stiles, Scott, Isaac and Liam are sitting on a cluster of stools in front of a plastic looking woman with a microphone. They look younger than they do now, with worse haircuts. Apparently ‘Indifferent Indifference’ had just gone to number one and Stiles is explaining the inspiration behind it, reluctantly. He’s been badgered into it by the interviewer and Scott, who keeps piping up with bits of helpful context.

“It’s basically just what it says,” Stiles says. “Sometimes you blow up the image of someone you like so much in your own mind that when you finally meet them, you can’t help be disappointed. Like believing in true love or whatever, you spend your life looking for a perfect person but no one’s perfect. So it’s basically about not looking for perfection, because you’re never going to find it.”

“Yeah,” Scott agrees. “Especially in Derek Hale.”

Stiles elbows him. He’s turning red. “That – no,” he says, a little desperately. “It’s more universal than just one experience.”

The interviewer’s eyes are narrowed with speculation. “Derek Hale, from Pack Attack,” she says. Scott nods affably. “So, Stiles… you met him?”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“And you’re a big fan, if I remember correctly. Got your start in a Pack Attack cover band in high school?”

“Yes.” Stiles looks miserable now. “I met him at a meet and greet after the show, and it just inspired the song, the song isn’t specifically about that.”

She smirks. “So the meeting didn’t go as you had hoped.”

“He was kind of a dick,” Scott agrees. “But it was for the best! It inspired us to stop fucking around with cover band stuff and work on our own music. Specifically, it inspired Stiles to write a song that I tried to convince him should be called ‘Derek Hale is the biggest dick of all the dicks’. But ‘Indifferent Indifference’ works, I guess.” He grins.

The interviewer is grinning too. “And, Stiles, what do you want to say to Derek Hale, if he ever watches this?”  
Stiles looks right into the camera. “I just hope he never does,” he says morosely.

Derek slams his laptop shut again and buries his face in his pillow.

*  
Stiles pounds on the bus door around lunch time, looking a little pale and frantic when Cora lets him in. He barrels down the aisle, finds Derek face down on the floor where he stretched out after giving up on his push ups.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, breathing hard. “About the Instagram and the song and the radio station and the—”

Derek pushes himself up, getting to his feet. “I don’t remember,” he says abruptly. “When we met, I mean.”

Stiles closes his eyes. “I know. Why would you? It was a stupid meet and greet thing. You didn’t owe me anything. It was just… I just…”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, because it’s his fault, really. He should have tried harder. He should have noticed. “So how do we end this?”

Stiles blinks. “You want to end it?” he says faintly.

Derek turns away, frustrated. “No? I mean, that’s not what I mean. It’s just, I didn’t know we were telling people. I thought it would be… small. But if everyone knows, we’ll need to… break up. At some point.” And it was going to fucking suck. “I mean, you don’t want to be my fake boyfriend forever. Right?”

There was a short pause. “No,” Stiles says softly. “I guess not.”

“We’ll figure it out later, I guess,” Derek says. He’s trying his best not to look at Stiles, because he really likes looking at him, and that’s not really working out for him.

“… Yeah.” Stiles sounds small, and Derek doesn’t know why.

“It’s… it’s a good song,” he says.

“Thanks.”

Derek closes his eyes and turns to face him, scowling. “Do you want to get lunch,” he snaps. He opens his eyes and Stiles smiles a little at him, hopefully.

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

Something relaxes in Derek’s chest. He does his best not to think about it, leading the way off the bus.

Having a fake boyfriend is proving just as awkward as a real one. Or maybe even more awkward.  
*  
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Laura asks quietly. Bonesies are performing and Derek is watching, because that’s what a good boyfriend would do. And also because Stiles is amazing on stage.

“Watching Bonesies,” he says absently, deflecting.

“I mean pretending to date Stiles Stilinski. What’s the point, anyway, Derek?”

He shakes his head. “It’s complicated.”

“What, because somehow you think this ridiculous scheme will keep Kate away from you? So you’re pretending to be dating a kid who has been in love with you since he was 15 years old? And you can’t keep your eyes off him? It seems pretty simple to me. And I know how it’s going to end. With you, hurt, and him, hurt, and the rest of us wondering how you could be this stupid.”

“That’s not going to happen,” he tells her, but he’s not sure. It could probably happen. “We’re just going to hang out until Kate’s gone, and then we’ll break up or whatever.”

She sighs, hand on his arm. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Play along? Stop asking me about it? Stop worrying?” he shrugged. “Easy.”

“Okay, baby brother.”

*  
Laura is a terrible person filled with terrible ideas.

And she invites Stiles on stage during their encore to sing Indifferent Indifference and Derek doesn’t know the song or how to play it – how the fuck is he supposed to deal with this?

But the crowd is screaming and Stiles is beaming happily and wrapping himself around a microphone stand and Derek has the perfect view of his ass back here and he can probably fake the proper beat.

He does his best, anyway, and he even laughs when Stiles hops up on his kit to sing the chorus to wave to him with a cheeky grin.

And for the first time in months, he feels actually physically present in the show, rather than caught up in his own head and his own music. His heartbeat feels louder, adrenaline runs through his fingertips, and he feels the rush of performing the way he hasn’t in so long.

After the show, he gives his drumsticks to Stiles, whose entire face lights up, and they stumble off the stage together, sweaty and laughing. Derek is high on adrenaline and excitement, can still feel the music in his bones, and Stiles is falling against him, and his face is lit up and Derek can’t even help it. He kisses him, an electric, bruising, hungry kiss, hands curling in the collar of Stiles’ shirt.

Derek may not be good with words, but he’s always been good with his mouth. It only takes a few stuttering beats of Derek’s heart before Stiles is making a hungry, breathy sound, pressing up against him and kissing him back. Then it’s all teeth and tongues and heavy breathing, hands searching desperately for something to hold on to.   
“Derek,” Laura says suddenly, quiet, and he ignores her. “Derek.”

He breaks the kiss, looking up, and Stiles is wrapped around him, holding tight. He hides his face in Derek’s shoulder, and Derek can feel him struggling to breathe. It’s all that matters for a long moment, but Laura is watching him with wide, worried eyes, shaking her head a little, and Derek starts to remember all the things he’d gladly forgotten about.

He doesn’t get to have this. Stiles doesn’t actually want him, he wants some idolized version of him. Or at least, he used to. And this isn’t real.

Derek panics. He pushes away abruptly, and Stiles staggers, reaching for him, but Derek doesn’t and can’t care. He shakes his head wildly and shoves his way past Stiles and Laura, and through the crowd of roadies and techs preparing for the next show.

He doesn’t stop running until the bonfires, the buses and the screaming crowds are just dim hints of colour and noise in the distance.  
*  
Derek’s plan is to make his way back to his bus without anybody seeing him. Then he’ll barricade himself in his bunk and block out the world and deal with the fallout of his momentous mistake in the morning. Or never, if possible.

He keeps to the outskirts of the buses, where the shadows are thickest. There aren’t many people back here, and if there are, they’re generally too busy making out with each other to notice him walk by. It’s ideal, until all of a sudden it isn’t, because Kate is a predator who always seems to know when she can find him alone.

“Where’s your pretty boyfriend?” she asks.

Derek has no time for this. “Get out of the way.”

She smiles and steps closer. “Aww,” she says. “Did you guys fight? Broken up already? I was really rooting for you, too.”

“Kate,” he snaps, because the longer he’s out here, in the open, the more likely it is that Stiles will find him and ask what the fuck he’d been thinking. “I don’t have time for your shit right now. Move.”

She smiles prettily. “Make me,” she says. And then she reaches out to touch him and he doesn’t have time.

He snarls and shoves her hand off his arm. “Don’t touch me,” he snaps. And then he shoves past her, so desperate to get to his bus that he doesn’t even hesitate to touch her, if only to get her out of the way.

She’s silent for a beat, maybe surprised at his violence, at his refusal to play her games. “Derek,” she says, and she’s not playful anymore. “I didn’t say you could go.”

He turns back towards her, so, so angry. And this time, the anger isn’t tying his stupid tongue in knots. “I didn’t ask,” he says. “Stay away from me.”

He turns to go. He can’t remember the last time he was brave enough to turn his back to her, but he just doesn’t have room left to care anymore.

She reaches out for him again, wrapping her hand around his bicep, nails digging in. “Derek,” she snaps. “You know you want me.”

“I haven’t wanted you in a long time,” he says, shaking her off again.

She hisses. “Maybe your boyfriend will want me, then.”

Derek loses his temper. He spins back around and she stumbles back in surprise, until her back hits the side of someone’s van. He pins her there. “You won’t touch him,” he says quietly, voice rough with fury. “Don’t even try. You come near him, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

She tips her head back and smiles, slow. “You know, I always thought it was funny before, how I could make you do whatever I wanted. But I think I like you this way better.”

Her hand is sliding down his back, to his hip, and Derek isn’t afraid anymore. He’s disgusted and furious but he’s not afraid.

“You never get to touch me again,” he says to her, and he’s about to push away from her and walk away when the van she’s leaning against chirps, headlights blinking on.

And then Scott says, “Derek? What are you – why are you – that’s Allison’s aunt. And our van. And. And Stiles is looking everywhere for you, dude.”

Derek shoves away from her and Scott looks at him like he’s just stomped on a basket of kittens. Kate is laughing again, and Derek has no time for her shit.

He shakes his head and pushes past Scott and the rest of Stiles’ band, heading for his own bus.

It’s empty when he gets there and Derek is so, so relieved. He barricades himself in his bunk as he planned, holding his pillow over his face and struggling to breathe.

He’s not panicking because Kate touched him, that’s the thing. He’s panicking because he can still taste Stiles and he was never supposed to taste him at all. And now that he has, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go on pretending he doesn’t want to do that every day.

But it was just pretend anyway. An accident. He can claim he was just playing the part, and maybe Stiles would believe him.

And now all of Stiles’ bandmates think they caught him cheating on Stiles with Kate and this is all so much more confusing than it was supposed to be.

When his sisters come on the bus a while later, he makes them swear on their parents’ grave that they won’t let anybody else onboard. Including Stiles. Laura looks concerned but she promises and that’s all that matters.

The bus leaves the festival grounds just after midnight, and though Stiles has knocked four times, no one has let him in.

*  
His phone buzzes at 3 am, with an unrecognized number. It says, Hello?

Derek stares at the message, puzzled, for a moment, and then replies, who is this.

Stiles.

“Fuck.”

He considers shoving the phone out the window, and then storming around the bus waking up his sisters and demanding to know who betrayed him. Instead, he exhales with his eyes shut a few times and then writes, Oh.

For a long moment, there’s no reply and he thinks that’s it, conversation over. And then Stiles writes, u ok?

Derek doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to and he isn’t going to. So Stiles calls, because of course he’s a pushy little shit when he wants to be.

Derek isn’t going to answer, but it keeps ringing and his sisters are grumbling sleepily and he can bet that Stiles will just keep calling if he doesn’t answer, so he curses, slides out of his bunk, and answers on the way to the back lounge.

“What.”

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks. Wherever he is, it sounds loud. He can hear cars and voices in the background.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Derek asks, flopping down on the sofa.

“Scott told me he caught you cheating on me with Kate.”

Derek winces. “I wasn’t,” he says, which is bullshit. Of course he wasn’t. How can you cheat on someone you’re not actually dating?

“I know,” Stiles says, sounding gentle. “That’s why I wanted to know if you were okay.”

“I thought you would want to talk about – you know. After the show, the – the—”

“The hottest kiss ever?” Stiles asks, quiet. “Nah. We’ve got time for that. I wanted to talk about Kate.”

Derek never wants to talk about Kate.

Stiles keeps talking anyway. “I talked to Allison, after Scott told me about the cheating thing. She defended you, said it probably wasn’t what it looked like. Told us that you two used to date.” He pauses. “Did you?”

Derek sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “When I was 17.”

Stiles is silent and Derek wonders how much he knows about Pack Attack and their early years. They were just starting out then, just making a name for themselves. 

When Stiles speaks, his voice is soft. “Was it before or after your parents died in that accident?”

Derek flinches and then he laughs, but it’s not a good sound. It feels like something in his chest is breaking. “We broke up that night,” he says, a little ragged. “Kate was older. I was… stupid. Rebelling against my parents. Thought I was in love. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Okay,” Stiles says soothingly. 

“Where are you?”

“Gas station in the middle of fuck knows where,” he says. “Everyone’s sleeping, I’m driving. Pulled over to call you.”

“Why?”

“Because I was worried about you. Obviously.”

“You shouldn’t,” Derek tells Stiles. “Nothing to worry about.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment. “Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

“Probably,” he says. 

Stiles huffs, frustrated. “It’s kinda hard to date when you’re avoiding me.”

“We’re not really dating, are we?” Derek asks, casual and soft.

Stiles goes quiet again. “I’ve got to go,” He says finally. “We won’t make it in time if I don’t get us back on the road, and Isaac will lose it if he wakes up while we’re parked here.”

Derek feels an unexpected jolt of disappointment but he ignores it. “Okay,” he says quietly.

“Yeah.”

Stiles hangs up; Derek closes his eyes and tries not to panic that he’s messed something up. There was nothing to mess up.

*

They’ve got a day off the next day, which is awesome and means some of the bands – those with anything left in their budget – are staying in a hotel that night, catching up on the sleep they’ve missed trying to actually rest on a moving vehicle.

Derek’s mostly looking forward to a real shower and some privacy.

But first, they’ve got another show tonight, and this time, it’s Pack Attack’s time to close out the night. 

Derek should be working out or jogging or doing anything at all, really, but he’s exhausted, so instead, he decides to lay in the shade of a tree in the farthest corner of the festival grounds and listen to music, and maybe doze a little.

He’s still not allowed to be alone, and since Stiles hasn’t shown up yet (and Derek would have avoided him if he had), Cora accompanies him happily enough.

She’s in a philosophical phase, so she’s reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which means she doesn’t mind that Derek tunes her out with headphones and music on his phone.

He’s listening to Bonesies’ latest album, but no one has to know.

Cora tosses her book aside to run to the bathroom, and Derek waves her off, promising her that he won’t wander off or get accosted while she’s gone. She takes off at a run just in case, and he rolls his eyes fondly.

It’s almost like Kate’s been hovering, waiting to get him alone, because she’s gently nudging him with her shoe a moment later, and when he opens his eyes, she’s sitting primly beside him, hugging her knees to her chest.

Derek sits up quickly and pulls his headphones off. He’s nervous, but he’s not afraid, and it’s a welcome change.

“We were good together, weren’t we?” she asks him.

Derek’s eyes narrow. “No,” he says. “Maybe, sometimes.”

She seems smaller than usual, less aggressive and abrasive, but she always had this other side to her, the lost little girl just looking for love. It’s part of what drew Derek back to her again and again, even though he knew the poisonous parts lurked there too.

“Do you ever miss it?” she asks.

He thinks for a moment, of their wild relationship, which had twice as many downs as it had ups, but the ups had been amazing. Filled with adrenaline and adventure. It had been addictive. The whole thing had been like a nasty drug trip – effervescent highs sporadically mixed with the darkest lows.

But he doesn’t miss the highs. “No,” he says honestly.

She pouts and tosses her hair prettily. “I bet I could make you miss me,” she says.

“No,” he says again, a little softly. “You can’t. You won’t, Kate.”

She’s getting angry and he can tell by the way she clenches her hands into fists, the colour that rises to her cheeks. She isn’t used to not being able to manipulate him. “You know all I have to do is touch you and you’ll fall apart,” she snarls. “You’re mine, Derek. You always have been.”

The sun is shining and it’s warm out. He can hear people laughing in the distance, and a band going through sound check on the stage. Beyond that, there’s the chanting of the crowd that’s gathering and traffic. It’s so commonplace, so every day. And Kate just looks like a sullen child, not the monster that had haunted him for so many years.

“No,” he says, getting to his feet, dusting the grass off his shorts. He’s barely paying attention to her anymore, because he isn’t afraid or nervous or anything – she just isn’t worth thinking about. She has no control over him. Not anymore.

She grabs him, nails leaving marks on his skin, and says, “I’ll prove it.”

He gently pries her hand off his arm and drops it. “No,” he says again. She reaches for him and he rolls his eyes. “Kate,” he says. “No. It will always be no. I’m not afraid of you.”

Her eyes narrow hatefully. “It’s that kid, isn’t it?” she growls, climbing to her feet. “You think he’ll take care of you the way I did, Derek? He won’t know what to do with you, how to make you feel the way I did. He’s just a child.” And she smirks. “Maybe that’s the appeal. You can train him the way I trained you, and—”

“You don’t know anything about him,” Derek snaps, the idea of Stiles being used the way Derek had been making him feel sick.

“I bet he doesn’t even know,” she sneers. “Have you told him how you did anything I asked you to? How you begged to sit at my feet? How you—”

“Derek!” Cora shouts, and she’s running towards them, looking furious. “Get the fuck away from him.”

Kate grins. “Maybe I’ll tell him,” she says. “I’ll tell him everything. Or maybe I’ll just take him the way I took you. I’ll teach him everything he needs to know to take care of you, Derek.”

“Stay away from him,” Derek snaps, and then Cora is there, panting, and Kate’s walking away like nothing happened.

“Are you – Derek, calm down. Are you having a panic attack? Should I get Laura?” Cora’s stroking his arm, trying not to panic herself.

“We need to find Stiles,” Derek says. “She’s angry with me and she’s going after him.”

He’s already dialling Stiles’ number, but it goes straight to voicemail and he doesn’t answer.  
*  
They find Isaac instead, sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of a paddling pool.

“Hey,” he says, sounding vaguely surprised as he pushes his sunglasses up on top of his head. He’s looking at Derek skeptically. “Didn’t expect to see you.”

“Where’s Stiles?” Derek has no time for Isaac’s judgey bullshit.

“Not here? He and Scott are off site, getting beer and shit. It’s a hotel night and Scott’s mom rented us a room!” He sounds practically giddy. “So we pooled our money for beer. And maybe vodka. A bunch of the bands are having a party, you’re totally welcome, if you want.”

Derek doesn’t give a shit about the bands and their hotel party. “I need to talk to Stiles,” he growls.

“I told you. Not here.”

“He’s not answering his phone.”

“No, he left that here. It’s charging.” He shrugs. “Sorry? I can tell him you’re looking for him.”

Derek closes his eyes. “Fine. Tell him. I need to talk to him, as soon as he gets back.”

“Sure,” Isaac says lazily.

Derek wants to make sure Isaac is aware of how essential it is that he follows through, but Cora tugs gently on his arm. “C’mon,” she says, quiet. “Stiles will call.”

Derek lets her pull him away.

And Stiles doesn’t call.  
*  
Bonesies play at 9 and Derek watches their entire set from the side of the stage. Cora is with him and Stiles seems fine – his smile is wide and happy, he sounds better than ever. Maybe Kate was full of shit. Maybe she’s not going to go after him. Or maybe she cornered him and told him everything that had happened and how it was Derek’s fault and Stiles doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

Derek winces at the thought and Cora squeezes his wrist. “He’s fine,” she says. “Laura texted, apparently Peter’s calling a band meeting.”

“Now?” he asks. Bonesies are wrapping up their set.

“Apparently.”

He rolls his eyes, but if Stiles is fine and not reaching out, then Derek’s not going to hang around and look sad about it. He had some dignity left – it was bruised and battered from Kate, but it was still there.

The band meeting is basically Peter ranting because they hadn’t exactly told him that Kate had been seeking Derek out and these are, apparently, the sorts of things managers are supposed to deal with.

When Peter finally lets them go, they’ve got 15 minutes until their set.

Derek sends Stiles one last text before going on stage. Sorry, he writes. For everything.

He’s not sure what Kate told Stiles, but he’s pretty sure that should cover it all.  
*  
The audience is electric that night and they scream for three encores and Laura gives it to them. Derek doesn’t mind. Music has always been a great escape for him.

Afterwards, they sign a few autographs before Peter pulls up in an SUV to take them to the hotel. Derek’s duffle bag is already in the trunk, and he grabs his phone out of the side pocket before sliding into the passenger seat.

He’s got seven texts from Stiles.

Wat 4?

Everything’s fine.

Coming to the party? We should talk.

Derrrrek?

Kidnof drunk. A little. :D

Pretden datng is the worst datng. The worrrrst.

Come over.

“Jesus,” Cora says, reading over his shoulder.

Derek locks his phone quickly, cheeks flushing. “What?”

“Cheap drunk,” she just says, settling back into her seat easily.

“Do you know what hotel they’re at?”

“Of course I do,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m totally going. Lydia’s going to be there.”

“Not alone,” Peter says.

“I can take care of myself!” she snaps.

“I’ll go.” 

Everyone stares at Derek, who hasn’t ever volunteered to go to a party with Cora. He stares blankly out the window and pretends he can’t see them.

When they’ve finally lost interest, he pulls out his phone and sends Stiles a quick text. Coming. Stay safe.

*  
The hotel is a disaster. They’ve somehow managed to rent out all the rooms on one floor, and most of the doors are open with musicians, roadies, techs, merch people, and fans spilling from one room to the next. Everybody seems to be in some stage of drunkenness and there are at least four different genres of music blasting from different rooms, fighting for dominance in the hallway. 

“I’m going to find Lydia,” Cora says, pushing her way into the crowd. “Text if you need me.”

“Yeah,” he says, already scanning the crowd for Stiles. 

He doesn’t find him, so he checks his phone, but there’s no reply. He texts again and then calls, but it rings and rings before voicemail picks up. Growing more worried, he shoves his phone in his pocket and starts searching each room.

He doesn’t find Stiles, but Scott is curled up with Allison in the last room in the hall.

“Derek!” he says brightly. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“I’m looking for Stiles,” he says through gritted teeth, because it seems like he’s been looking for Stiles all day.

“He went back to the room,” Scott says, rolling his eyes fondly. “He was barely functional. It’s ridiculous. He was slurring and staggering. He hadn’t even had that much to drink yet!”

Derek frowns, uneasy. “Which room? I’ll go check on him.”

“Oh. 412. One floor up. I’m sure he’d like to see you. He might be passed out, though. Here.” Scott pulls his room card out of his pocket and nods solemnly. “I know you guys fought or whatever, because he was sad all day, but dude, he really likes you. You guys have got to work it out. Okay?”

“Sure,” Derek says, and Scott salutes him with his beer.

Derek takes the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor, and at room 412, he pauses, takes a deep breath, and knocks. There’s no sound inside, so he knocks again, harder. Still no answer.

Derek opens the door cautiously. “Stiles? It’s me.”

There’s no answer so he turns on the lights, and Stiles isn’t there. 

And Derek’s run out of places to look. He panics, but that doesn’t help either.

*  
Derek is supposed to be staying at a nicer, quieter hotel across town, but camps out in Scott and Stiles’ room instead. Scott’s probably going to be out late with Allison anyway, even if he doesn’t come home, and Derek doesn’t know what else to do.

He waits for an hour, staring at his phone and trying not to panic too badly, and then he goes back downstairs.

Allison and Scott are still where he left them, drunker now.

“Didja find him?” Scott asks sloppily. Allison is in his lap, giggling at something on her phone.

“I need Kate’s number.”

Scott blinks at him. “You can’t. No. You already – you can’t, even if you’re mad, dude, you can’t.”

Derek ignores him. “Allison. I need her number.”

Allison stares at him for a moment biting her lip but then she hands her phone over with shaky hands. “I don’t know where she is,” she says. “But somewhere in the hotel.”

Derek looks Kate up in the contacts, copies her number into his phone, and says, “Thanks.”

He walks out while Scott is still stammering about how Derek better not cheat on Stiles.

Derek dials Kate in the stairwell and she answers on the third ring.

“Derek?” she guesses with a laugh.

“Where is he?”

He can hear her pout. “He won’t wake up. I guess he doesn’t really have to be awake, but it’s always better.”

“Kate.” He swallows hard. “Please. This has nothing to do with him.”

“It has everything to do with him! You wanted me until you met him!”

“I stopped wanting you years ago!” He’s leans against the wall as he talks, trying to keep her on the phone. At least if she’s talking to him, she’s not focussed on Stiles.

“But you didn’t have anybody else,” she says sulkily. 

“I didn’t want anybody else,” He says, because it’s true. He spent ten years fucking around trying to forget her, but no one had lit up for him the way Stiles did.

“Because you wanted me.”

“Yeah,” he lies. “Let’s – let’s get a drink. You and me. We can talk, and then – I have a room, across town. No one will find us there.”

She pauses, and he hears noise in the background. “Ugh,” she says. “He’s getting sick, Derek.”

Derek closes his eyes. “Don’t let him choke,” he says quietly, because he’s going to fucking cry, he hates feeling helpless and here she is, making him feel helpless again.

“Whatever. Where are you? I’ll let you buy me a drink, but you’re going to have to make this up to me.”

“Lay him on his side,” he tells her, keeping his voice even. “I’ll meet you at your room.”

She laughs. “I’m not stupid, Derek. I’ll come to you.”

He grits his teeth. “I’m in the stairwell, come meet me. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I knew you would,” she says sweetly and then she hangs up.

Derek takes a moment just to breathe, focusing on inhaling and exhaling and counting the required Mississippis in between. And then he calls Cora.

“Kate has Stiles and I think he’s been drugged. He’s getting sick. She’s meeting me to go for a drink, I need you to call the police, I don’t know what room she’s in.”

Cora is silent for a moment and then says quietly, “Where are you?”

“The stairwell. Call the cops, we need to find him. And maybe an ambulance. I don’t know what she gave him.”

“On it,” she says tersely and she hangs up.

Kate looks smug as hell when she comes down the stairs to meet him, wearing heals and a short skirt, bright lipstick. She slides up close to him and says, “Let’s go, lover.”

Derek shudders but takes her by the hand, so she can’t slip away and disappear again. “Where is he?” he asks.

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” she says with a smirk. “If you’re good.”

And then Cora throws the door open and steps into the stairwell. She takes one look at Kate, standing close to Derek and smirking up at him, and rolls her eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Derek snaps at her, because he’s totally willing to distract Kate while Cora helps the cops find Stiles.

“Did you really think that’s how this was going to go down?” Cora asks, and then she punches Kate in the face, hard. Kate’s head slams back and hits the wall and she crumples at Derek’s feet. “You’re not going anywhere with her.”

“We need to find Stiles,” he says, already bending down to make sure Kate is still breathing.

“Police are on their way,” she says. “Lydia’s checking with the front desk. Laura and Peter are on their way.” She jerks her chin at Kate. “Find her key card while you’re down there.”

Kate is breathing, thankfully, though her nose is bloody. Derek grabs her purse and digs through it, finding her key card a moment later.

“602,” he says. “Stay with her.”

She salutes him with a grin. “And punch her in the face again if she starts waking up?”

“Whatever you have to do,” he says, distracted and already taking the stairs three at a time.

He’s halfway down the hall when his phone rings and Stiles’ name shows on the screen. 

“Stiles,” he says. “I’m coming, just wait, I’m almost there.”

“D’rek?” Stiles says, syllables soft and slurred. “Y’phoned?”

Derek laughs a little, only the tiniest bit hysterical. “At least 20 times,” he agrees.

Stiles hums but doesn’t seem able to put a sentence together in response. It doesn’t matter; Derek’s at Kate’s room and he throws the door open as he hangs up the phone.

Stiles is on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed, tipped sideways and blinking sluggishly. There’s a blanket piled up in the corner, presumably where Kate tossed it after Stiles had gotten sick.

“Stiles. It’s okay, everything’s okay,” Derek says, kneeling beside him.

Stiles blinks slowly. “M’hmm,” he hums, listing sideways towards Derek, who catches him. “Not feeling so good,” Stiles murmurs, and he climbs onto Derek’s lap and curls up, small. Derek holds him tightly and Stiles gives up on being awake a few moments later.

Derek just tightens his hold and decides it’s for the best if he never lets go.

The paramedics find them there two minutes later.  
*  
“I’m fine,” Stiles says. He’s said it half a dozen times in the past five minutes, but Derek can’t help hovering. Stiles doesn’t look fine. He looks like he’s suffering from the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. He’s pale, waxy, with dark bruises under his eyes. 

They’re in the back lounge of Derek’s bus, and Stiles is snuggled up under every blanket Derek could find. He’s slipping in and out of sleep, but the doctor said that would happen and that he’d be fine soon enough.

Derek’s just grateful he managed to find Stiles before Kate had done anything worse than drug him.

He sets down the cookies and lemonade he’d picked up at the gas station they just passed and hovers over Stiles for another moment, until Stiles groans.

“You’re making me dizzy,” he says, eyes still closed. So Derek sits on the floor near the couch, leaning back against it.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks. “You’re okay? You don’t look okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Kate would target you, and I—”

“You are not responsible for your crazy ex-girlfriend,” Stiles mumbles. But his hand somehow finds its way into Derek’s hair, fingers running through it.

“A little responsible,” he says, letting his head fall back, eyes closed. There are so many things he needs to say, but the more Stiles touches him, the more his tongue tangles up. He finally manages, “But we don’t need to fake date anymore, I guess.” Because Kate had been arrested for what she’d done to Stiles and Allison had apologized a million times, especially after hearing about what happened the night Derek had broken up with her a decade before. He’d called his mom and dad from her place and asked them to come get him, because he was drunk and stupid and wanted to go home. She drugged him instead of letting him go, and a drunk driver had t-boned his mother’s car, killing both his parents instantly.

Derek was just glad he would never have to talk about that again.

Stiles lets his hand fall out of Derek’s hair and says, “Oh.”

It takes a moment for Derek to remember what they’d been talking about, and then he turns to face him. “No,” he says. “I didn’t mean… Stiles.”

Stiles smiles weakly. “It’s fine,” he says. “You’re right. We totally don’t need to pretend to be dating anymore. I can call Scott, catch up with the van, and ride in there. We don’t even need to—”

“No,” Derek says. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, we don’t have to pretend. We can – if you want, we can do it for real.”

Stiles blinks at him and then smiles, slow and shy. “You’d want that?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. His face is burning, he wants to hide, but he forces himself to be still. “If you do.”

“I’ve wanted that the whole time,” he says. “Like, when I was a kid and I had your posters on my wall, I wanted to lick you all over and stuff, but then I met you and you were a dick and I kind of got over it, but then I met you for real and realized that you’re not actually a dick, you’re just the most socially awkward person I’ve ever met and you don’t like to talk but that’s okay, because I like to talk enough for us both.” He smiles brightly.

“Yes,” Derek agrees, a little dazed. He pauses and then adds, “To the licking part, too.”

Stiles laughs and it cuts off with a moan when they hit a bump which makes his head hurt again. Derek grabs the cookies and says, “Have a cookie, you’ll feel better,” because cookies make everything better.

Stiles rolls his eyes and tugs Derek closer by his collar. “I have a better idea,” he says. “Fake dating was cool and all, but there wasn’t near enough kissing. We could make up for lost time instead, and—”

Derek agrees with all his heart, and he kisses Stiles to prove it.


End file.
